


Sir Eyebrows

by Valgus



Series: Words of Nations [10]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Office
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valgus/pseuds/Valgus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why Artie has such a weird eyebrows, Francis? Are they always like that? I mean, you know, before 1000 AD, maybe? Like, did something happen along the way?”</p><p>America talked to France on England’s most prominent feature—and past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sir Eyebrows

“Do you think it’s weird to be madly in love with your former parent?”

America had stopped signing the absurd pile of letters when he asked the question, startling the female intern who looked at him like she just witnessed a landing of Tony’s family.

“E-excuse me, Sir?” she stuttered, eyes wide and head tilted a little to one side.

The personification of United States of America wanted to laugh and groan at the same time. The intern had worked for him for around a week and he believed she was still waiting for him to magically turn into war plane at some point, because she shudders whenever America made sound. He really thought she was already thinking lightly of him when he asked her to buy him specially made burgers from Burger King, but apparently America was still scary for her.

“Ah…” America let out a long breath.

Perhaps it wasn’t him—it was more of what he asked.

What kind of person was in love, in all romantic sense, to their former parent? 

But alas, Alfred F. Jones wasn’t a person. Yes, he was a personification—but not a person. 

The intern smiled at him timidly, “A-are you by any chance talking about Mister Kirkland of England, Sir? N-not that I mean to pry…”

Now America really laughed. “Yes, exactly, I’m talking about that grumpy eyebrows!”

Her lips curled into a relieved smile, “Then I think it’s not weird, Sir.”

“I told you to just call me Alfred.”

“Alfred… Sir.”

“… Alfred.”

“Mister Alfred.”

“Well, it’s a progress,” America started to sign letters again, but dividing his attention to the intern who looked too happy for her nation’s personification talked about the former pirate Arthur Kirkland. “You don’t have to be so formal with me. I mean, I eat burgers all the time. I drink the same Coke with you guys.”

She giggled a little to America’s relief.

“I-I actually read about it, Sir—Mister—Alfred,” she stuttered again.

“About burger and Coke?” America’s hand stopped moving.

“N-no, I mean about you and Mister Kirkland.”

America knew he was smiling from ear to ear, “Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”

“W-well, y-your ship is called LiberTea—a-and I personally think it’s kind of cute…”

America laughed and the intern mirrored him. They laughed and laughed and America was happy.

It was illegal to be that happy at ten in the morning.

*)*

After lunch—America felt like eating sandwich, so he had it with juice and french fries—one of his bodyguards in suit entered, a little out of breath. His gesture alone informed that something was out of ordinary routine of bodyguarding.

“What’s wrong?” America looked up from his pile of french fries.

“T-there’s a guest for you, Sir.”

“Thomas, I told you since three months ago to drop the ‘sir’,” America groaned.

But the bodyguard didn’t listen, “It’s Mister Bonnefoy of France, Sir.”

America raised his eyebrows. No wonder Thomas Cleveland was flushed and out of breath.

America didn’t really understand why most human felt really intimidated in his or other countries’ presence. After a while, their behaviour wear off, but America felt like he was just a slightly older person—to be fair, he was about 300 years old, so not just slightly—who happen to be the very spirit of America. America himself was extremely casual and he believed that no one should be afraid to such a silly, loving nation like France.

Speaking of the devil…

“Bonjour,” he strutted inside the room like he walked on a catwalk.

“Hullo, Francis,” America said with mouth full of french fries. “I’m just eating your fries, 'cause it's French.”

“Funny,” the European nation sneered. “I just thought I’d visit you since I’m around.”

“And by around, you mean…?”

“I was in New York in the morning and LA after.”

America nodded. One of the perks of being a nation is inhuman travel speed.

“Doing fashion thingy again?” America stuffed his mouth with more french fries.

“How rude,” France took a seat across him. “It’s about economy. I’m not all art and fashion, you know.” He took one french fries from America’s plate and America chuckled.

“Ludwig must be freaking out with the situation you guys are in right now.”

France sighed, “He is not happy, but when is he, really?”

America shrugged, “Only when he’s with Feli.”

They both laughed. France put the french fries into his mouth. He yelped on first chew.

“It’s really oily,” protested France. America only laughed. “How do you not get stroke with such unhealthy food, Amerique?”

America shrugged again, “Artie is fine with his horrendous scones, so as someone who was raised by him—“

France was already laughing again. When he stopped laughing, he smiled to America. “How’s everything with Monsieur Grumpy?”

America grinned, “Just perfect.” France was still smiling. America had finished his french fries and now looking at France’s faces. No matter how he looked at it, Francis Bonnefoy had gorgeous face. Maybe since his people was so good at art, his face itself was quite an artwork.

And his eyebrows were just perfect.

“What are you doing?” France chuckled. “Are you falling in love with me? Mon dieu, Arthur won’t be so happy about that…”

“Shut it, you frog-person,” America pouted. “I’m just thinking about your eyebrows…”

“—And they are perfect, yes,” France nodded and America laughed again, wanting to shove him but they were too far apart because of the table.

“Why Artie has such a weird eyebrows, Francis?” America exhaled. “Are they always like that? I mean, you know, before 1000 AD, maybe? Like, did something happen along the way?”

France shook his head, “He always had that eyebrows and hair as far as I remember.”

“How long have you know him, again?”

“More than a thousand years,” France smiled and America envied that smile and France so much. He looked down to his empty plate, a certain new hunger was rising and America had never been so annoyed by empty plate with nothing but little crumbs of french fries and oil on it.

All his memories he had was around England, but there were so many parts of England he didn’t know. England was there since America’s birth. But America only knew England for a very short time compared to nation like France.

“Oh cheer up, Mon Ami, it’s not that bad,” France apparently knew what America was thinking. America didn’t expect nothing less than such romantic country like France. “I mean, all that matters now is that you are with him—and you continue to create future with him.”

America felt a smile tugged his lips.

“And he loves you,” France leaned towards him. “And let me tell you, Alfred Jones; he never loved anyone like he loves you now in all history.”

America had never been this happy before on France’s visit.

“Oops, I better leave now,” France stood up. “I’m already fashionably late.” He winked at the younger nation before walking to the door.

“Thanks for coming, Francis!”

“Get healthier potato. Something steamed, perhaps,” France suggested before closing the door.

America laughed again.

*)*

America was about to finish his pile of letters to be signed when his door was open. There was only one person who didn’t bother knocking when entering his office.

“Hi, Honey,” America grinned cheekily to the man who just walked in.

England pouted, “Don’t you ‘honey’ me when you have that much work on your table, Alfred, how many times I should tell you?”

America laughed, “Really? You just come and you already mothering me?”

England’s pouted become more prominent. His eyebrows were squirming and America thought he was the loveliest, most adorable thing ever existed in the whole universe.

“I’m not your mother,” England crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I know,” America signed one last letter before running to England, hugging the shorter nation on the hips.

“Dear Lord, Alfred,” America could hear England’s pout on his voice, but the older nation stroked his back. “Go finish your work for today before you do more than hug.”

America pulled back and hold England’s hands.

“I love you, you stupid eyebrows,” he giggled.

England’s cheeks were as red as Spain’s best tomatoes.

“Go back to work first, you git.”

When America returned to his seat, he heard a mumble.

“WellIloveyoutoo.”

“I’m sorry?” America raised his face.

England’s angry eyebrows were just too cute, “Your work. Now. Unless you want to miss dinner with me—“

“I’m working, I’m working!”

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write cute America and England story. I think they are just too cute. But I guess it is our instinct to ship the grumpy one with the happy one.
> 
> Thank you for reading "Sir Eyebrows".


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